


Most Dangerous Monster? Entitled White Boys

by Savy_tries_to_be_a_writer



Category: Bellarke - Fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Multi, Tumblr, Writing Prompt, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 09:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savy_tries_to_be_a_writer/pseuds/Savy_tries_to_be_a_writer
Summary: Occasional waitress Clarke is setting down a fresh round of drinks at a table in her best friend Lincoln's bar when she overhears an artsy-looking young man talk about the hierarchy of literary monsters, and her inner-voice decides to bypass her brain and flap out.writing prompt from an (I think) quite popular or well-known tumblr post, which starts the short story and sets the scene.





	Most Dangerous Monster? Entitled White Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a while ago and found it again last night. Quite like it! Let me know about spelling errors and stuff.   
> This is the first Bellarke short story I'm publishing so hm interesting!

“Most dangerous monster? Well, vampires are pretty easy – just carry pencils. Ghosts are mostly irritants, werewolves collapse at silver, and dragons keep mostly to themselves… Na, it’s one no one expects. It’s-“

“Entitled white boys who were told no”, Clarke says out loud, passing the bottle of raspberry beer across the table. As all eyes dart to her she becomes immediately aware of the blood rushing to her cheeks because she couldn’t keep her inside-voice, well, _inside_.

She straightens herself up, keeping the tray on her hand level, and brushes the loose lock of hair dangling in front of her eyes back behind her ear. She clears her throat.

“Sorry, that was…an accident.” With 8 pairs of eyes on her, she doesn’t really know what else to say. 5 of those pairs twinkle with held back tears as their owners, one by one, burst out laughing. One pair of dark brown eyes, hidden behind dark rimmed glasses and belonging to a guy with a curly mop of black hair didn’t even so much as snicker, but a loopy smile spread across his lips. The eyes of the man who Clarke had seemingly interrupted were trained on her in horror, his entire face contorted in a disgusted fashion, and the man next to him seemed to condemn her to a low-life fate of not getting any tips at all that night.

So the blonde ducked her head and just returned to the bar as quickly as she could. She checked quickly that the table she was just at couldn’t see her and then plopped the tray down on the bar, and her head on it. She groaned loudly.

“What happened this time?” the big, burly, bald-shaven bartender asked, shifting the glass under the tap he was handling back into a vertical position. Amusement lit up his face.

“I am _so_ not cut out for this job, Lincoln. I don’t know why you keep asking me to help out when you’re short-staffed. I actually _scare_ your customers away, your long-term, returning, well-paying customers. Why do you take that risk?” She lifted her head up to look at him. The fond smile on his lips did in _no way_ diminish his incredible attractiveness, as he held one hand on the tap he just used and put the other just above his hipbone, his t-shirt sliding up a bit to reveal the black tribal tattoo he had gotten during his time in the New Zealand Navy.

“No, that is _not_ making it worth it, Linc, and you know it.” Clarke responded with a cocked eyebrow and resorted to standing up straight again with a groan, suddenly aware of how unflattering her previous position would have looked next to Lincoln’s amazing body. He, in turn, just chuckled.

“I keep asking you, ‘cause you’re a good waitress and a diligent worker, and you need the cash if I remember correctly. I can rely and depend on you, and you’ve got my back. Plus, if there’s ever any trouble with a customer, you’re right there in the middle of the fight, which saves me some trouble with both the police and my gym buddy. Oh, and my training schedule. So, _again,_ ” he said, returning to pour another beer out of one of his special taps, “what happened this time?”

Clarke couldn’t keep the proud smile from creeping on her lips and lighting up her face. She’d been friends with Lincoln since their first art class together at the community college three years ago. He’d been there with her during the awful year of Lexa and her aftermath, she’d been there during the issues with his father and when Nico, his half-brother was in a rough place in his life. They had never been _together_ -together, good _fucking grief_ no, but they had been together for a long, long time. She wouldn’t have traded him for the world, to no one and nothing. So whenever he called, she was the first one there, and you could be damn sure she wouldn’t leave until he did. Plus, he helped her get through med-school, financially, by asking her to wait for him a couple times a month. Sometimes even a couple times a week. So that man was her world, in a way.

“My inside-voice slipped out again. I don’t know what they were discussing at that table over there, with the brunette, feisty-looking one you keep checking out,” Lincoln glanced at the table and the girl when Clarke said that, and shot her a quick reproachful glance, “but they were saying something about dangerous monsters and listing all kinds of fictional shit. And I accidently said, out loud, ‘entitled white boys who were told no’.” She buried her face in her hands again. Lincoln just laughed.

“Good one”, he said without looking up.

“It gets worse,” Clarke continued through her hands, “the guy who I interrupted was one of the only two white boys at the table, and he looked _genuinely_ privileged and entitled. And the other entitled-looking white guy looked at me like I was a speck of dirt on his shoe after that.” Clarke shook herself as if a shiver had gone through her body, to try and shake the experience and memory off of her. It didn’t work. To be fair though, Lincoln’s booming laugh didn’t help matters along.

“Oh that is just brilliant” he got out in between clapping his hands because he had to laugh so much. Clarke couldn’t help but join in, partly because she now also began to see the irony in it all. I mean, it _was_ just something ironic and typical of Clarke to do, unwillingly of course. Lincoln recollected himself again.

“So you want me to assign another waiter to that table, save you from not getting any tips tonight?” He offered. Clarke glanced at the table of that party and pondered them each individually for a moment.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “I have to face the consequences of my actions after all. And to be honest, I think at least the women might give me good tips. As will a few of the guys I think. I’ll just have to be extra nice to the two privileged white boys, I _guess_.” She stressed that last word exaggeratingly and snickered again. Then she took the two cocktails that Gina, the other bartender behind the bar had just finished for her, and brought them to the table that had ordered them.

When she glanced at the _doomed_ table to check the level of their beverages, she realized she had to return to them. Ducking her head and scratching the back of it, she made her way over there and put on the kindest smile she could muster, hoping her voice would match it.

“Hey guys, can I get you anything else?” She asked milky-sweet, collecting three empty glasses and casting a quick glance around. The two women were beaming at her, still clearly celebrating what she had let slip before. Glasses-guy and the two goofy-looking guys with odd hats on (it was fucking warm inside, were they high or something?) barely looked at her differently from before, and the two privileged white boys looked at her with such disdain that she felt almost proud to have offended them so badly. They were also the only ones to decline and ask for their separate checks, while the others asked for another round of beers and wine. Clarke simply nodded and returned to the bar, thanking whatever guardian angel she had up there that those two were leaving ASAP. When she returned with their checks and they paid but gave her no tip like she had predicted, Clarke sighed of relief.

“Sorry for their behaviour,” the woman with the long ponytail of brown hair and the most high-tech looking cell phone in her hands Clarke had ever seen, “I guess you just hit a nerve there with your comment. Which, by the way, A-plus, you could _not_ have been more accurate if you had tried, or had listened to them talk beforehand. Such absolute pricks,” she added, eyes glued to her cell phone but an expression of shocked amazement on her face. Clarke grinned.

“Well, it wasn’t on purpose or anything, sorry for letting that slip out-“

“No, no do _not_ apologize, you were spot-on for Murphy and Finn. Like, describing them to a fault is what I’d write it down as.” One of the two stoned-looking guys, the Asian one, seemed to look at Clarke with a bit of awe in his eyes now. Then he said something to the other stoned-looking guy next to him and they both laughed. Glasses-guy just looked at Clarke curiously, like he was thinking about something when he saw her. The girl couldn’t help biting her lower lip when she looked at his curls a bit more closely, suddenly getting a flash of her hands entangled in them before her mental eyes, and started fidgeting and stammering her way out of that situation. When she returned with their drinks, she tried really hard to look professional and cool but nearly dropped his beer on him. This night was just a giant mess of embarrassment for Clarke.

When she told Lincoln as much, he looked over at that table again and his lips curled up into this half-smile that Clarke absolutely dreaded. She would have preferred to wait on those two white boys from before, Murphy and Finn, and only them for the next 4 hours to watching Lincoln put on that smile. That smile meant he was up to no good. _None at all_.

“Oh my god, Lincoln, _no_ , I don’t know what you’re thinking about right now, but I can tell you it’s _not a good idea_ , do not dare to do anything right now, okay? Lincoln, I mean it!” She exclaimed, a bit more desperately as her friend seemed to ignore her completely and continued to stare over at that table. Clarke went to grab onto his biceps in fear of what plan his mind was coming up with right there, but she was just a fraction of a second too late as Lincoln started moving and stepping out from behind his bar. If there was one thing Lincoln was surprisingly good at that wasn’t sketching and probably working out, it was coming up with plans that were _absolutely brilliant_ , but not always the preferred method of achieving things. Like he got stuff done alright. But Lincoln knew no shame when it was necessary, and he was sure to expect the same from others. And Clarke couldn’t keep up with that.

“Lincoln!” she hissed at his back, unable to stop him as he stepped through the little saloon-like door connecting the bar with the seating area (he just lifted her, made a 180° turn, and put her back down again), before she anxiously hid from direct sight. She could still see the table he stopped at, probably partly because he wanted to talk to the black-haired feisty-looking girl he was checking out all evening, and wondered what he was telling them. They all shook their head in one way or another, but smiled or nodded the next moment. Glasses-guy turned to scan the people sitting at the bar, until he found Clarke staring at them, gnawing on her lower lip. When their eyes met, she let go of her lower lip which in response to his stare parted slightly from her upper lip. God his curls and those glasses were attractive. He smiled at her and winked, raising his beer ever so slightly. Clarke didn’t know what he meant by that and suddenly looked away, trying to seem busy with something. It wasn’t until Lincoln came back that she stopped aimlessly arranging napkins on the counter.

She stepped into his personal space, like he had any left with her, and, without looking at him, asked, agitatedly

“What did you say to them?” Everything about her posture, down to the top of her head barely reaching the top of Lincoln’s shoulders, seemed to scream ‘I’m small, but fight me’.

Lincoln chuckled.

“Nothing, really.” Clarke nudged him in his ribs.

“Liar, now tell me the truth – why was glasses-guy winking and smiling and raising his glass to me across the room?” Lincoln raised his eyebrows at her. The twinkles in his eyes betrayed his calm expression, the one she was so used to with him. Lincoln, always the calm centre of anything. Clarke could count only a handful of things in the world that could make Lincoln’s calm, relaxed aura change, and they were all extremes.

“Well, as to the raising of his glass; I simply asked them if they had had any trouble with you as their waitress, to which, by the way, they all said no, and then I offered them a round on the house for any inconvenience your quick-wittedness may have cause them. Which they, of course, accepted, but I’m fairly certain you can expect a huge tip from that table in the end. And maybe a phone number or two judging by what you just said.”

Clarke tried to ignore the rush of warmth spreading across her face at those words and stepped out of Lincoln’s personal space, lifting her hair at the back of her head. She tried to non-chalantly glance at the glasses-guy but nearly slipped off the bar when she saw him looking back at her. Embarrassed to her bones, she tried to straighten up, grabbed her tray again, and went to wait on her other tables.

“You just wanted to charm that hot girl” she mumbled to Lincoln, who looked after her and then let his eyes dart back to the girl Clarke was referring to. Well, she had a point, he thought to himself.

The occupants of that table didn’t leave until midnight. It was a Friday evening so the hour wasn’t really unusual, but the way they left sort of _was_ ; when Clarke went by a final time, telling them this was last call because the bar had a birthday party in the morning and the owner was closing early that evening, the two stoned-looking guys immediately handed Clarke 35 bucks each, telling her to keep the change (which amounted to almost 10$ each) and not accepting her second-guessing. The brunette with the high-tech cell phone did the same, but added that she’d really enjoyed the evening and that she would come back, hoping to see Clarke around again. She and the stoners were out of the door and waving everyone good-bye by the time Clarke had finished putting the bills away. The black haired girl asked if she could pay at the bar, and jumped off her stool excitedly when Clarke told her she could. Which left the guy with the glasses.

He smiled as he got up and asked how much he owed her. Clarke was in danger of fidgeting and stammering again, but cleared her throat and answered, quite normally “Your total comes up to 27,90”. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and suddenly wished she could take his glasses off to get a good look at his dark, chocolate coloured eyes. Instead, she swallowed hard and watched him get his wallet out of his back pocket. Man those jeans fit him well.

“I’m assuming you get this quite a lot, and I don’t want to come on too strongly so just know that it’s completely okay if you say no, and please tell me if it’s inappropriate,” he said, getting out three ten dollar bills and a fiver, “but could I by any chance see you again sometime? Maybe over coffee or something that _I_ could bring to _you_?” He handed her the cash, which Clarke took automatically and put in her waiter-wallet. She blinked at the man a couple of times before exhaling in a laugh and reaching into her pocket for her pen and paper.

“I’ve never really done this before, and usually I’d say it’s inappropriate, yes. _But_ , “she said, scribbling down her digits on the paper and tearing it off, “I’d love for you to bring me coffee some time, yes.” She was about to hand the piece of paper to him when she suddenly pulled back.

“Hang on; You didn’t even ask me my name. Wouldn’t you like to know it before asking me out for coffee?” She immediately became suspicious – oh shit, maybe he wasn’t a good guy after all, what if he was some crazy stalker who came off all charming and nice and had secretly been watching her for weeks and knew her name, address, phone _and_ social security number already?

But he just laughed and put a hand to his neck.

“I already got your name, _Clarke_ , from the owner when he came over to give us a free round.” Clarke exhaled loudly. Thank _god_ for that, and for Lincoln.

“But you don’t know _my_ name, yet were about to give me your number. Care to know it?” Clarke blushed and realized she _hadn’t_ asked him for his name and she was being _absolutely crazy_ just now. _Wow_. She started stammering something and blushing furiously. Glasses-guy just laughed again. He held out his hand for her to shake.

“My name is Bellamy. Blake.” Clarke took his hand and enjoyed the way his fingers made her skin tingle and the hair on her arms stand up.

“Clarke. Griffin. And I’ll be sure to remember yours,” she added as she handed him her phone number with a grin.

‘Cause I’m sure I’ll be screaming it out soon,’ her inner voice added.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me all about this on my tumblr an-effed-up-mess.tumblr.com !  
> And let me know what you think in the comment section and with kudo's if you're so inclined!


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